


Pulaski

by aliensaregay



Category: The Lorien Legacies - All Media Types, The Lorien Legacies - Pittacus Lore
Genre: Chicago, Gen, Sandor needs a nap, little Nine is chaotic but adorable, this is kinda emotional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:42:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27076684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliensaregay/pseuds/aliensaregay
Summary: He lets his eyes trace the odd stain on the back of the seat in front of him. The radio continues cycling through different songs, but Sandor’s head is filled with Andrew Bird.In a split moment, he makes up his mind.or: What sparked Sandor to bring him and Nine to Chicago.
Relationships: Nine & Sandor
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Pulaski

**Author's Note:**

> https://open.spotify.com/track/1tGRfoeKD06YvZr6l3uwEk?si=TKNWhVdaQwGHdI7lbmXsRw
> 
> Immediately after I heard this song in my Discover Weekly playlist this was the first thing that popped into my head. It's been half-finished for ages, but I thought it was finally time.

Snapping the handle closed on the sturdy little black suitcase, Sandor collapses heavily on the dingy train seat. With each new location Sandor just felt dizzier with exhaustion and confusion. Recently he was able to land a train ticket from Lexington to Louisville in Kentucky, just on the outskirts of Indiana. Without many possessions other than clothes, the suitcase was mostly taken up by the annoyingly heavy chest Sandor knew better than to part ways with, despite the struggles up escalators and weird stares before he had the sense to buy something to carry it in. Suitcases were easier to blend in with, Sandor realized, after many months of questioning glances from strangers when he first tried to use a backpack. Suitcases gave the appearance of a stumbling tourist, and no one, he learns, cares to pay attention to anyone who may spring an unexpected request for directions at any given moment. 

Nine eagerly crawls over his lap, jostling Sandor from his thoughts. The almost ten-year-old scrambles into the seat beside him, not at all bothered by the apparent lack of sanitation and use of the old train, and presses his small hands to the glass. 

“Ha! I got the window seat!” Nine remarks triumphantly. Sandor chuckles and ruffles the boy’s hair. The young Garde squirms away from the affection with an annoyed huff and continues to gaze at the passing fields of farmland with wonder. If Sandor saw another mile-long field of corn again, he swore he was going to vomit on the spot. He never knew how Nine never got tired of the sight. As a matter of fact, he didn’t understand a lot of things about his little Garde, like how he managed to get the most energetic kid out of the bunch, or how he was going to manage to keep the two of them alive, never mind avoiding the Mogadorians. All he knew was they had to keep moving. 

Being nomadic for so long was beginning to take a toll on Sandor. He needed some time to  _ rest,  _ just a moment of peace so he could properly  _ think…  _

The train’s speakers burst briefly with static, startling Sandor. Realizing there’s a song playing softly through the budget speakers, Sandor perks up to listen. It’s a nice song, with a catchy instrumental melody and a fun rhythm. Sandor tunes into the lyrics. 

_ “I paint you a picture _

_ Of Pulaski at night _

_ Greetings from Chicago _

_ City of, city of light _

_ Come back to Chicago…”  _

In that moment, Sandor lets the song wash over him, feeling at ease for the first time in months. He doesn’t know why the sound is evoking such a viscerally pleased reaction out of him, but he knows he has to find out what this song is. Turning to his right, he grabs the attention of the woman sat closest to him. She appears to be her late sixties, curly hair cropped close to her head and nose deep in the paper. Sandor waves his hand. 

“Excuse me, ma’am? Sorry to bother you, but do you happen to know what this song is called?” 

Without so much as a glance in his direction, the woman responds, “It’s that Pulaski song, by Andrew Bird.” She adjusts her glasses and turns the page, reading on. “Lucky you happen to ask me. My granddaughter  _ loves  _ this song.” 

“Thank you,” Sandor replies gratefully. Without jostling Nine, who had fallen fast asleep with his head in Sandor’s lap, the young Cepan shuffles through one of the smaller pockets on the outside of his suitcase until he finds a sharpie. Uncapping it, he scribbles the title of the song and the artist on his forearm, even though he knew he wouldn’t forget it. 

The woman nods to Nine, snoring gently. “That one yours?” 

Sandor shakes his head too quickly, cursing his instincts. Coming up with an alternate explanation fast, he replies, “No, this is my brother… Harley.” Not wanting to use Nine’s human name from the previous city, he makes up a new one on the spot. Luckily the woman doesn’t pry. She gives a warm smile. 

“He’s a cute kid. You guys look like you lucked out on the gene pool.” 

Sandor smiles sheepishly. “You should see him awake. He’s not so cute then.” 

The woman laughs. “Ah, to be young and excitable. Enjoy it while it lasts.” 

Sandor raises his eyebrows. The woman shrugs. “It’s true,” she states. The young Cepan opens his mouth only to watch the woman turn back to her paper once more. 

Outside, fields of brown and green fly past Sandor’s window in a blur of dull color. Sandor never considered staying in a metropolis, but now was as good a time as any to give it a try. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Where else better to blend in than a crowd of people who all stand out? 

Plus, he now had a gut feeling after the song that was hard to ignore. 

He lets his eyes trace the odd stain on the back of the seat in front of him. The radio continues cycling through different songs, but Sandor’s head is filled with Andrew Bird. 

In a split moment, he makes up his mind. 

Turning in his seat, Sandor taps the lady on the shoulder. “Have you ever been to Chicago?” 

*****

_ Crash. _

Jolting up, Sandor follows the source of the noise and sprints into the gym. He  _ was _ working on setting up the new computer system he bought but now he had to make sure Nine wasn’t bleeding out on the floor of their training-room-in-progress. The poor Cepan never caught a break with this rambunctious Garde. 

Turns out Nine is hanging out on the top of one of the supply shelves on the other side of the room. His little legs, which were beginning to lengthen out at an alarming rate due to his pre-teen years, are dangling idly over the top shelf, swinging innocently. There’s an open duffle bag on the floor, its contents littered across the polished floor. 

Oh wait. Those are the guns and ammunition Sandor bought when they first moved, as their first form of protection. Eleven year-old Nine fiddles with a handgun, popping the chamber in and out and staring into the barrel. 

“What the—  _ get down from there right now!”  _ Sandor shrieks. Nine giggles when he sees he’s been caught, and tries to escape by clambering over the top of the shelf. He loses his balance halfway across and tumbles off the side. Luckily Sandor is there to catch the flailing boy in his open arms. His reflexes are getting sharper. The young Garde shrieks and squirms in Sandor’s arms but he holds on fast. 

“Give me that. How did you even find this?” Sandor works the handgun out of Nine’s hands and tosses it into the duffel bag. Thankfully it wasn’t loaded, and he was pretty sure Nine wouldn’t have been able to figure out how to load it anyways. For good measure, he sends it across the floor with a well-placed kick. 

“I’m bored,” Nine pouts, his body going slack after he realizes he isn’t freeing himself from Sandor’s grip. “You’re doing boring computer stuff.” 

“And  _ you, _ ” Sandor huffs, heaving Nine up higher into his arms, “Are going to be the death of me.” He makes his way to the living room, arms burning from the exertion of keeping the growing Garde off of the floor. It used to be so easy. 

Finally he dumps the insubordinate Garde on the couch, bracing himself forwards on his knees to catch his breath. “You’re getting heavy, buddy. Stop growing so fast, or I’ll have to sell you to the pound.” 

Nine sticks his tongue out at him, arms crossed. 

Sandor closes and locks the door to the gym, and goes back to sit down next to Nine who hadn’t moved. “Hey,” he says softly. 

Racking his brains quickly to placate the ill-tempered Garde, something popped up immediately. “You want to know why I chose to come to Chicago?” Nine nods. “Well,” Sandor continues. “This calls for a trip down memory lane.” 

“We moved here less than a year ago.” 

Sadnor ignores him, flicking on the computer he was working on and pulling up the album on the disc still hidden in the tray. 

“Get ready for the best song in the world.” With that, Sandor presses play on the computer screen, and the song begins on the speakers. It sounded just as Sandor remembered it. 

Not ten seconds in, Nine remarks, “This song sucks.” 

“What? No it doesn’t! It’s barely started, you gotta listen all the way through.” Sandor jabs an accusing finger in Nine’s direction. The Garde turns an indignant cheek. 

“Come on, doesn’t it make you wanna go like this…?” The Cepan shrugs his shoulders to the beat and taps his feet on the ground, a cheeky smile lighting up his face. Nine makes a face of disgust at Sandor’s attempt at dancing and shakes his head. 

“Eww, no, what are you  _ doing? _ ” 

Sandor laughs and takes the boy’s wrists, moving them to the beat of the song. For a few brief moments of stubbornness, Nine eventually gives in with a terribly disguised giggle. He throws his skinny arms in the air and begins wild movements in rhythm, challenging his Cepan. Glad he was able to avoid a grumpy and potentially trouble-making Nine, he can’t help but light up at the rapid enthusiasm of the young Garde. 

In no time, the boys are dancing wildly around the room, competing for the one with the strangest moves. Pulaski streams out from the computer, and the bustling Chicago streets continue on. 

*****

Flicking on the lights of the training room, Nine yawns and stretches his arms high above his head, hearing the joints pop in his left arm and the metal whine in his right. He slips off his grey hoodie and drops it onto the coat rack by the door. The sun's glow dimly grazed the horizon, leaving the lawn in a frigid morning chill. 

Nine snatches up his iPod, plugging in his earbuds and popping one into his right ear. He strolls over to the balance beam while scrolling through playlists, searching for one to turn on while he runs through his morning workout. A Spotify notification appears on the screen, informing him of a new feature: weekly playlists with song suggestions based on his listening trends. Nine shrugs and clicks on it. An hour and a half of mostly R&B, pop, and… 

Wait. 

Finger hovering over his screen, Nine pauses at the title of a certain song. The word itself kickstarts Nine’s heart rate into overdrive. It’s been years, but Nine could never forget the soundtrack to his and his dead Cepan’s relationship. To Nine’s annoyance, the song was played on an infinite loop back at the penthouse. It was the reason Sandor felt the need to move to Chicago, and he  _ loved  _ to talk about it. 

An uncertainty in his step, Nine makes his way over to the bench in the corner of the training room and slides the other earbud into his left ear. With a quivering thumb, Nine presses play. 

_ “When are you gonna stop playing this damn song?” fourteen year-old Nine whined dramatically after he walked into the kitchen with the music blasting.  _

_ “Never,” Sandor replied without skipping a beat. Nine used to think it was a torture tactic just to get back at him for all the stress he had caused the young Cepan, but he’d never admit to liking the song just as much as he did.  _

_ Nine wrinkled his nose. “Ugh.”  _

_ Sandor had a dreamy look on his face while stirring the contents of his frying pan. “I’m bringing this song back to Lorien one day,” he adds wistfully.  _

He was going to bring it back to Lorien. The memory causes a knot to form in Nine’s throat, but he swallows it down. Closing his eyes and folding his arms behind his head, Nine lowers backwards to lay out on the bench, soaking up the sound from his earbuds. 

Training could wait. 

**Author's Note:**

> I did actually look up the meaning of this song, and it doesn't correlate with this fic at all, so before anyone mentions that I'd like to say this is creative interpretation. Thanks for reading!


End file.
